Special Agent Wittman watched a tape of the series a few weeks later. The Twin Cities audience had seen a heartwarming tale of pluck and perseverance, but what Wittman saw was a public relations disaster for the FBI.
Part one went into detail about the Lindbergs’ efforts and introduced Bonnie as the lead detective on a case that the FBI had abandoned decades ago. “For the last three years, all leads led to Rio,” the announcer said, “and all the leads were rejected by the FBI.”
Part two begins with Bonnie unwrapping the first painting, then cuts to Brazil and Carneiro’s villa. The three Rockwells that Wittman wanted to recover can be seen clearly, but his hopes of retrieving them faded as he watched.
“Jose Carneiro says he’s done everything properly to purchase the paintings, which appears to be true,” says the announcer, “and while he’s willing to let the paintings go, he wants his money first. So the question remains, what will it take to bring the remaining Rockwells back? Carneiro knows that possession is nine-tenths of ownership, and he has that locked away in Brazil.”
Carneiro displayed the letter he received from the Art Loss Register stating that the Rockwells weren’t on their list.
In his book, Priceless: How I Went Undercover to Rescue the World’s Stolen Treasures, Wittman devotes a chapter to the effort to recover the remaining Rockwells. He characterizes the eighteen months after he saw the series as full of diplomatic and bureaucratic delays. The problems he describes shed some light on why the FBI closed the case and why they refused to revisit it on the basis of leads that came afterward.
Wittman refers to “the long-held law enforcement mentality that art crime isn’t a priority.” He says that U.S. Attorney’s offices are routinely run by control freaks who think the best ideas come from the top down, not from the investigators who do the work. Prosecutors expect cases to conclude with arrests and prosecutions, and the FBI’s role is to assist them. Recovery of stolen property, cultural or otherwise, is always secondary.
In the case of the theft from Elayne Galleries, the investigators in Minneapolis knew who the thieves were, but they couldn’t gather enough evidence to prove it and decided that they never would. The fake art scam interested the Miami office until plans to make an arrest fell apart, then that was abandoned.
The mutual assistance treaty Wittman and Hall had been waiting on was signed in February 2001. Bureaucratic conflicts continued to stall things, but when the Brazilians approved their request to question Carneiro, the project finally moved forward. They were in the midst of preparations to leave for Rio on the morning of September 11, but their plans went up in smoke along with the World Trade Center towers.
The FBI sent Wittman to Ground Zero to counsel firefighters and law enforcement personnel. By the time he got back to Philadelphia, terrorism was such an overwhelming priority that their plans were in jeopardy again.
Ironically, it was the attacks of September 11 that ultimately sealed the deal for Wittman and Hall. One of the paintings Carneiro had, “The Spirit of 1976,” is Rockwell’s updated version of a nineteenth-century work depicting a fife and drum corps marching in front of an American flag. It was painted by Archibald MacNeal Willard in 1876. In Rockwell’s painting, Boy Scouts are doing the marching, with a large flag fluttering behind them and the Manhattan skyline seen dimly in the background. The twin towers of the World Trade Center are faint, but unmistakable.
Hall pointed out this detail to a ranking prosecutor in his office, who recognized that recovering the painting could be a public relations coup. In December 2001, Wittman and Hall finally left for Rio. Their mission was the first under the new treaty and would constitute a test of its practical value.
In order to underline their new attitude of cooperation the Brazilian authorities had been pressuring Carneiro, but they weren’t having much luck. Carneiro knew exactly where he stood legally—and financially. The treaty mandated cooperation, but it didn’t supersede Brazilian law.
As for the paintings, their value had been climbing ever since he acquired them, and the events of September 11 had only fueled that trend. He was in the catbird seat. The two investigators weren’t even sure they would be allowed to question him in person.
Hall had inquired about the possibility of extraditing Carneiro to face charges in the United States. That was unlikely, he was told. The federal prosecutor’s office in Brazil did put Carneiro under investigation for failure to pay a national property tax when he bought the paintings. The penalty was a fine, not prison, but the investigation allowed the prosecutors to get a search warrant. They hoped to seize the paintings and turn them over to their U.S. counterparts.
Carneiro’s villa was searched. The paintings were nowhere to be found. The prosecutors forced Carneiro to give a deposition. He admitted under oath that he was still in control of the paintings but refused to divulge their whereabouts.
Wittman and Hall were under strict constraints. According to Department of Justice rules, any offer Hall made could be construed as binding, so he had orders to dangle nothing more than a promise not to prosecute. Wittman’s situation was the opposite. As a law enforcement officer he could make any threats or promises he pleased, but they would all be worthless.
They met in the office of the Brazilian prosecutors, who opened the proceedings by reminding Carneiro that he was still under investigation on the tax charge. He laughed and called that a nuisance. He wondered why they had asked him to come, if that was what they wanted to discuss.
Hall told him he was in a world of trouble because, according to U.S. law, he was in possession of stolen property. Hall said that if they failed to reach an agreement, he would ask for Carneiro’s extradition and put him in prison.
That elicited another laugh from Carneiro. He indicated that an extradition request would simply mean he had to stay put in Brazil. He nodded toward the window, which had a nice view of the Rio de Janeiro skyline and the mountains beyond. If it came to that he would try to cope, he said.
Wittman saw that threats wouldn’t work. He portrayed the problem as political and enlisted Carneiro’s support in finding a solution that would make everybody happy. That would be just great, Carneiro replied, but I haven’t heard anything that makes me happy yet.
Wittman appealed to his self-interest, reminding him that the paintings weren’t worth much in Brazil. They were worth plenty in the United States, he observed, but Carneiro couldn’t sell them there. Then he accused Carneiro of holding the paintings hostage against America.
That hit a nerve. Carneiro protested that he loved America. Wittman countered that he wasn’t making any friends there by refusing to repatriate the work of an iconic American artist, especially in view of the September 11 attacks. At that, they broke off for the day.
At their next meeting, Carneiro stated his price: $300,000 and a promise that he wouldn’t be arrested if he came to the United States.
You aren’t negotiating with the U.S. Treasury, Hall cautioned. But he said he and Wittman could act as middlemen if Carneiro wanted to deal with a party that might be willing to part with a reasonable sum.
Some serious haggling began. According to Wittman, it took several hours and many phone calls to St. Paul before there was an agreement. Carneiro would receive $100,000 from Brown & Bigelow, plus Hall’s written promise that he would not face charges in the United States. The money would be sent by wire. As soon as it arrived, Carneiro would lead them to the paintings.
The next day the deal was consummated. Wittman and Hall retraced the Lindbergs’ journey to Teresopolis. The paintings were hidden in Carneiro’s school. He asked the Americans to examine them and take note of how carefully they had been handled. They were in good shape, Wittman agreed.
Before they left town, Hall called the embassy and asked for help getting on the next possible flight, as well as clearance through customs and security with the three large packages they would be carrying. By morning, the last of the stolen Rockwells were back in the United States.
The recovery was well publicized. The U.S. Attorney’s office sent out a five-page press release. It summarized the theft and the case, skipped over years of investigatory inaction, and avoided naming the gallery owners or referencing their efforts. The FBI agent and the assistant U.S. Attorney who recovered the paintings went unnamed as well. Quite a bit of information about Carneiro, Rockwell, and each of the paintings was included.
The release ended with a quote from Attorney General John Ashcroft, who recognized the FBI and the U.S. Attorney for their “relentless pursuit of those in the criminal trade.”
A few days later, the paintings were displayed at a news conference. U.S. Attorney Patrick Meehan called Rockwell “that most American of artists” and said recovery of the paintings was “very important for the American psyche at this time.” He pointed out the faint image of the World Trade Center’s twin towers in “The Spirit of 1976” and noted that the marching Boy Scouts came from Edison, New Jersey, not so far from Philadelphia, birthplace of the nation and home of the Liberty Bell.
A flurry of newspaper articles followed. There was one more photo op at the Minneapolis FBI office before the paintings were handed over to Brown & Bigelow on February 12, 2002.
There was no mention in the news, or in any of the DOJ’s well-orchestrated publicity, of the $100,000 Brown & Bigelow paid to get the paintings back.